Lawyer's Partner Is Left To Pick Up The Pieces

MICHAEL MAYO COMMENTARY

They founded their law firm on a handshake. Stuart Rosenfeldt says Scott Rothstein was like a brother to him, and he trusted his partner completely.

Too much, it turns out.

Because in the end, when the whispers about an empire built on quicksand turned to screams from panicked clients, Rothstein was nowhere to be found on Monday.

It was left to Rosenfeldt to deal with the fallout, with lives, careers and fortunes hanging by an unraveling thread.

"I've had worse days," Rosenfeldt told me before an emergency hearing Monday to determine the fate of the Rothstein Rosenfeldt Adler law firm and its 150 employees. "The day I buried my brother, the day I buried my best friend who committed suicide, the day I buried a protege [attorney Melissa Lewis] who was murdered last year."

But this certainly had to rank near the bottom, discovering the person he thought he knew might be the second coming of Bernie Madoff.

"I want to start fresh," Rosenfeldt said. "I just hope I can get through this with my reputation intact."

At this point, with so many unanswered questions and so much investor money potentially gone, it's hard to know how anyone will emerge from this mess.

Rosenfeldt said he discovered something was wrong in recent weeks, when people who thought they were Rothstein's friends learned money invested with Rothstein might have gone missing.

If this turns out to be the worst, full-fledged fraud, then many will wonder how supposedly smart lawyers like Rosenfeldt could leave the financial keys to their kingdom alone in the hands of someone like Rothstein.

The full roster of Rothstein's possible victims is unknown, as is the ripple effect of a potential Ponzi scheme. Rothstein branched into a dizzying array of businesses in recent years, including restaurants, real estate, fine watches and premium vodka. A small army of attorneys sat through Monday's hearing on behalf of creditors and clients they declined to reveal.

When I asked Rosenfeldt on Monday if he was second-guessing his deference to Rothstein on finances and Rothstein's other business ventures, he shrugged meekly.

Anyone who's spent time with the Bronx-born Rothstein knows he can be charming and persuasive, bullying and abrasive.

In a column last year, I described him as part Joe Pesci wiseguy from Goodfellas, part H. Wayne Huizenga mogul.

He spent lavishly and loudly, with a fleet of expensive cars and a budding collection of big-name attorneys and consultants. The law firm started with seven attorneys in 2002 and expanded to more than 70 attorneys this year. Rothstein gave generously to charity and mightily to political campaigns.

Some thought Rothstein was a house of cards waiting to fall.

When I spent a couple of hours with him last year in the Las Olas restaurant he had just bought with Boca Raton restaurateur Anthony Bova, he waved off the whispers by saying others were simply jealous and resentful.

At the time, he said, "I'm going to ride this wave as long as God allows."

He called the law firm "a benevolent dictatorship," with a unique financial arrangement: only he and Rosenfeldt were equity partners, and he had final say.

All the other attorneys, even those listed as partners, were "non-equity shareholders."

"I run the ship," he said last year. "If I want to hire [somebody], I can do it without a committee meeting."

He also talked about his one rule for employees: "If you lie, you die...You can give me bad news, say something I might not want to hear, but never lie to me. If you lie, you're gone."

Rothstein told me about his guiding principles: "Be fair, honest and tough...My grandfather said it's very simple: Just do the right thing. The great thing is you know it when you're doing the right thing. You can feel it in your bones."

I wonder what Rothstein is feeling in his bones now.

Michael Mayo can be reached at mmayo@sunsentinel.com or 954-356-4508.

Inside

Many politicians from both parties distance themselves from Rothstein's donations. Page 4